Cloisonne
It was the most beautiful grackle who died. His form was plump and cunning even after trauma; his sheen was all over so black it was green-purple; and every, each feather of his was edged with gold, as though God, to pass the fall afternoons, had taken up cloisonne.
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Categories: Contemplation
beauty, create, die
Exoristos
Porter Doran
Iannes
Epiktetos
Anonymous
words become magic in your hands.